


Lester's Bedroom

by Joe_Reaves



Category: Primeval
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-09
Updated: 2010-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-08 19:43:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joe_Reaves/pseuds/Joe_Reaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What can a room tell you about its inhabitants?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lester's Bedroom

The room was very masculine - that was the first thing anyone walking in would notice. The floor was pale wood and the walls were cream, but what dominated the room was the bed. It was a king size, sleigh-style bed, with a dark wooden body. The sheets were wrinkled as if someone had just got out of it and the comforter was tossed back. It was immediately obvious that the cream-coloured sheets were high quality and probably had a high thread count too. The comforter was brown cotton with tiny gold accents in the corners. The curtains matched the comforter and completed the masculine appearance of the room. Peeking out from under the folded back comforter were several sections of The Sunday Times. On one side of the bed, the sports section was open and on the other the main paper was folded back to the crossword, which had been completed neatly in black pen.

One wall of the room was filled with a large wardrobe. In front of it there was a chair with a dry-cleaning bag hanging off the back of it, unzipped just enough that a dark suit could be seen inside it. Over the back of the chair hung a pair of red braces. Next to the wardrobe was a wicker laundry basket, the lid tightly closed, which presumably contained the rest of the outfit that went with the suit.

On the other side of the bed lay a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a pair of boxer shorts, which seemed to have been left where they fell when their owner undressed. Next to them was a tray with plates piled on it, empty except for a few crumbs and a sliver of bacon rind.

There were bedside tables on each side of the bed and both of them were currently sporting empty mugs. The one on the same side as the tray proudly declared that 'Special Forces Do It Hard'. It was balanced precariously on the edge of the table, squeezed in next to a stack of paperback thrillers and a dog-eared motorcycle magazine.

The other bedside table had a small, elegant alarm clock, and a Blackberry. Other than those and the mug, it was clean and empty.

On the wall at the foot of the bed was a large, black and white photograph, neatly encased in a simple black frame. It depicted a middle-aged man with dark hair, a dusting of stubble along his jaw line, and eyes that sparkled with mischief. He was naked with just a strategically placed helmet to preserve his modesty.

The shower could be heard from the en-suite bathroom, along with the low rumble of male voices and the occasional laugh or moan and the sun was shining around the curtains and through a gap where they didn't quite meet, completing the effect of a lazy Sunday morning.


End file.
